


Doing Well

by YoiteMichealis



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Boys Kissing, Bromance, Child Abuse, Daddy Issues, Dorms, Link is a baby gay, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, boys wearing makeup, comforting older brother pipit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoiteMichealis/pseuds/YoiteMichealis
Summary: Small town baby Link has never even met a gay person, but now he's in college and he has to figure out who he is and what he wants. Link is sad, Ghirahim is sad, everyone's gay, let's do it. Pining will ultimately lead to Ghirahim/Link





	1. 8 A.M. Classes Are A Scam Don't Take Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never know how emotional to get in these things but here goes. I was a summer camp councilor this summer and some of my kids were queer but told me that they had never met a gay adult before me. As a self-proclaimed human disaster I felt weird stepping in as that role model for my kids, but they have no one else because the American South is a really rough place to be queer and young. So I think the inspiration for this are those kids, the ones who don't have a role model but are so strong and fierce and so, so gay. I think snippets of this are also about me and my experience of finding a family in my college roommates, but I want this to be about the babies. Also I love slow build and I think there's not enough complete GhiraLink out there that shows wholesome, caring romance. I've already vomited a 10k word one-shot that's posted here if any of you are interested :)

Growing up in a tiny town – probably a village if he was being truthful – Link had never actually met a gay person. It wasn’t as if his town was particularly regressive; there were a few interracial marriages, all but one were between those of Sheikah inheritance and Hylians. These couples were treated like everyone else, but Link had never actually heard of anyone _discussing_ issues like interracial marriage.

Hardly anyone from Hateno went to college, his sister, Zelda, was the pride of their village for getting into Hyrule University. Even though Link had gotten nearly the same amount of scholarship money two years later, it wasn’t nearly as impressive once his sister had done it. He wouldn’t ever bash his sister, though. Link looked up to Zelda nearly his entire life. She was his constant friend when they were growing up. Even as she became the top of her class, the pride of Hateno, Zelda would still go out of her way to sit with Link at lunch and ask him about his day.

 So, no, he didn’t resent Zelda or their tiny village, but Link knew he had led a sheltered life. Even as close as he and Zelda were, he couldn’t ask her about love. They just didn’t talk about those kinds of things. Link loved his town, and his family, but he hadn’t told any of them he was gay. He doesn’t even know how he was supposed to go about that. Did it have to be a big deal? It was always a big deal on TV shows. Now that Link was in college, he was determined he was going to blossom into whatever he was supposed to blossom into. Eventually.

Now most of his attention was on the cute student at the back of the classroom who looked like he’d rather be dead than attending Ancient Hyrulian History I at eight in the morning. Link wasn’t particularly excited either, but despite all of he warnings he had read on reddit forums for college freshmen, he had still decided he’d rather have lectures in the morning so he could do other things with his day. Beautiful mystery man looked like he was one of the ones leaving the reddit advice. Link would bet actual adult money that this student had tried everything he could think of to avoid taking this class, only to be tossed back into the jaws of academic ruin.

A quick look around the room showed lots of people that Link assumed were upperclassmen. This assumption was solely based on the fact that everyone already seemed to have people to sit with. Farore knows how exactly everybody in the enormous lecture hall already had friends, but whatever dark magic they were using was way above this small-town boy’s level. Nervous, but seeing no other place to sit, Link decided to sit two seats down Mr. Grumpy’s row. Not close enough to incite the wrath of the morning demon of History 204, but close enough that he could see this enigma.

Mystery boy – also know as “Mr. Grumpy” – was quite tall and lanky, so much so that his white sneakers rested under the row of seats in front of them. For someone who looked like he’d rather die than be in class at this hour, Mr. Grumpy had obviously spent a long time on his appearance. White skinny jeans paired with a crimson sweater wasn’t necessarily something Link – or probably anyone – would choose to wear, but it suited this man’s pale skin and silvery blond hair. The whole look was put together with dark, messy purple eyeshadow and pale, shiny lipstick.

Link knew that sometimes boys wore lipstick - in fact he had always wondered what his own sculpted features would look like with the products that were sprawled all over Zelda’s sink – but he had never found the courage to try or anyone to teach him how.

Eighteen and still without his first kiss, there were a lot of things that Link should have been more upset about, but something about this beautiful queer college student made him wish that he knew how to really _look_ gay. How to _be_ gay. Link knew he wasn’t a real adult yet, college was already scary, and he had no idea what he was doing, but somehow, he thought that by now he should’ve figured it out. Maybe this exhausted looking skinny-jean clad peer would be the one that Link could look up to.

Like the rest of his classes that week, Ancient Hyrulian History I started off plodding sentence by sentence and word by word through the syllabus. Link was about ready to lay on the floor and die. Or drop out of college. He hadn’t decided yet. When he had first tested into this class, he knew that it was usually a second-year only class. Like Zelda, he had a talent for the humanities. But, unlike Zelda, Link was taking the lowest level of Math that Hyrule University offered (and he was still worried about losing his scholarship because of conic sections). Really though, who was good at conic sections? All the same, Link had been sure that an upper level university class would be much more intense than the laid-back way the elderly Sheikah woman was plodding through the third page of the syllabus.

Maybe these upperclassmen wouldn’t eat him alive like Zelda had teased when he had showed her his schedule.

So far, no one had tried to eat Link, thankfully. Link had three suitemates, but no roommate of his own. He had lucked out in the housing lottery, being one of the few still paying for a two-person room but getting the luxury of having his own space. The other two rooms that he shared the common living spaces with were a double, housing a sophomore named Zant (who was really weird but nice) and a bubbly freshman named Sidon (he liked Sidon, Sidon was one of the nicest people he’d ever met), and another single that housed a junior named Pipit. Pipit was hardly around, but he seemed to go out of his way to make sure the freshman felt welcome in “the coolest suite ever.”

Link was excited to live on a floor that housed first years and upperclassmen. “His” two upperclassmen treated him and Sidon like little brothers. It was Pipit who he saw when he returned to his dorm. The tall chemistry major was splayed out in the corner of their old leather couch. Tucked into the corner of the kitchen-living room hybrid room in their suite, the couch was a white monstrosity that had probably seen more wars than the ancient history textbook he had been toting around all day.

Despite the terrifying age of the couch, Pipit look pretty comfy in his work (definitely video game) zone. As welcoming and kind as ever, when Pipit noticed Link, he waved him over with a smile.

“How’s it going Link? Haven’t changed your major yet?”

Link chuckled and leaned against Pipit’s arm. Whatever first-person shooter this was it seemed like Pipit was probably close to spending an embarrassing amount of time on it.

“Still a terrible humanities kid, don’t worry.”

Pipit didn’t take his eyes from a heavily armored opponent, but he raised his left hand to ruffle Link’s golden-blond hair. A lot of Pipit’s mannerisms reminded Link of Zelda. He still saw his sister pretty often, but it was different now that they were both in college. They were in different dorms and different classes, so sometimes Link felt like his sister had abandoned him.

Link was working on his issues, and college was really hard, but Link was doing well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all need Pipit in our lives. Also, don't let anyone tell you it's okay please don't take early morning classes in college it isn't the same as high school and it will not help your productivity and, unlike these two, your 8 AM history class will most likely not contain the love of your life. Both Link and Ghira have made grave mistakes


	2. Ghirahim Has Daddy Issues: The Movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I have a couple things to say. I changed the rating and the tags because I didn't know initially how far into Ghirahim's past I wanted to go. I'll post warnings with each chapter to try and keep everyone safe. This one will probably be the roughest one. Also, thank you guys for reading I appreciate you!
> 
> TW this chapter/: Sexual violence, child abuse, language.

It took Ghirahim two entire, painstakingly early days of Ancient Hylian History I to even notice the cute boy who had sat next to him. The boy was shorter than average, but not miniscule. Even after attending classes at Hyrule University for (Ghirahim assumed) at least a year, short-stuff looked skittish. Maybe he was scared of Professor Impa. Ghirahim didn’t blame him; apparently last time someone tried to cheat on one of her tests she got them kicked out of school. The story varied, Groose, a sophomore from his genetics class, swore that Impa had voodoo dolls of every single one of her students. For someone who had a second job just to afford a metric shit-ton of hairspray, Groose was pretty creative.

As much as people ranted and raved about the evil mistress of the history department, Ghirahim had never really had a problem with Professor Impa. Ever the overachiever, Ghirahim had finished his first year of university with honors across the board. Still undecided about his major, the one class that had destroyed his entire schedule was an advanced Shakespeare class that would count towards his English requirement. He had to argue his worth to several members of the high-level humanities faculty; his sophomore status wouldn’t normally qualify him for a 400 level English class.

 Impa had been one of the professors on his side, arguing that his excellent performance in all areas of study his freshman year was reason enough to let him try. Eventually the rest of the faculty on the board agreed, but Ghirahim was pretty sure that somehow his arguments with the school had angered the goddesses.

Even after hours upon hours of examining every single possibility for his schedule, there was no way around it. If Ghirahim was going to graduate on time, he was going to have to take this History class at buttfuck o’clock three times a week. His coveted Shakespeare class was at one of the most popular times to put sophomore only classes. The universe was against him.

So here he was, Lord Ghirahim Forora Jr. A-honor-roll almost his entire life, son of one of the most powerful (and richest) politicians in Hyrule – a man nicknamed Demise, and seriously contemplating becoming the trophy husband to the first willing courtesan so he wouldn’t have to wake up so early anymore.

Partially because Ghirahim was much too extravagant to live in the Hyrule university dorm (most of which charged students an arm and a leg to live halls that probably should be condemned) and partially because Ghirahim’s father didn’t want his son making a fool of himself and tarnishing his reputation, Ghirahim lived at home and commuted about 30 minutes to school every morning. So, if he was going to get to class early enough to impress Professor Impa (why in the hell was she a morning person?), Ghirahim had to catch the 7:15 train from historic Castle Town to the more rundown downtown where the university was located.

Ghirahim didn’t necessarily have to take the train, he had never been wanting for money or material distractions. His white Mercedes was well loved but remained parked in the four-car garage next to his father’s extravagant vehicles. The main reason that Ghirahim left his sweet ride at home was that parking was almost impossible. Even with parking lots specifically reserved for commuters, by the time Ghirahim arrived there were approximately 5 million people trying to find parking spots.

The other reason to ditch his classy car for the misery and inconvenience of public transportation in Castle Town was the fact that Senator Ghirahim “Demise” Ferora, sweet ole Daddy-o, hated the fact that Ghirahim might be seen using “commoner” modes of transportation.

Demise actually hated most things about Ghirahim. From a very young age Demise was unkind to Ghirahim, blaming him for the fact that his mother had run off with a woman, leaving her asshole husband alone with a toddler too young to realize what was happening. Ghirahim was under the impression that Demise couldn’t love anything that wasn’t money, but logic said that he had loved Hylia. Like a blustering, filthy pig out of hell, Demise invited woman after woman into their home, each of them more beautiful and richer than the last. They would stay for a few weeks, sometimes even months, but they would always leave in tears, sometimes with bruises.

When Ghirahim was very young he was happy when these women left, he always hoped that once Demise grew tired of his playthings Ghirahim’s momma would come back. His anger for Demise’s flings quickly dissipated once Ghirahim was old enough to start asking questions and putting together a picture other than the happy image of his parents in love.

One time, when Ghirahim was about six, his white-blonde hair not yet silver and badly needing a trim, he had walked in on his father with one of his model like victims. The girl was young, probably around the age that Ghirahim was now, and her face was streaked with tears. She was bound and gagged, and for some reason his father was on top of her making some sort of terrible groaning noise. Before tiny Ghirahim ran out of the room, trembling and crying, he saw the fear in the woman’s eyes.

After this encounter, Ghirahim was no longer angry at these women. They weren’t trying to steal his mother’s place. They were just victims of his father’s influence, unable to find an escape like his mother had. Ghirahim stopped asking question after the second time his father beat him, so a lot of the things he knew about his mother were reconstructed memories and vague assumptions. Ghirahim’s mother had probably been just as terrified as all of these big-boobed playthings, but it seemed that she had escaped Demise’s reach with a mystery girlfriend by her side.

Ghirahim wasn’t angry at his mother for leaving, he would take the first chance he got to do the same. He was just angry that she hadn’t taken him with her.

Demise’s hatred of gay people probably steamed form the fact that Hylia had left him, but as soon as Ghirahim “showed signs,” it became very much about his son. The first time Demise found lipstick in the house, he threw it away. The second time, he threw it at his son. That day, Ghirahim managed to avoid the blows of his father with a quick dodge. Other days he wasn’t so lucky. Very quickly his makeup skills improved to cover bruises and cuts; his reflexes became quicker, and when the kids at school asked him why he wore his hair so long, he would either start fights or pretend he didn’t hear them.

 In an attempt to feel more in control of his own life, once Ghirahim got to high school, he stopped trying to hide his feminine tendencies and attraction to other boys. That’s when the skinny jeans and dramatic eyeshadow started as an act of rebellion against his father. Though, even though it started to piss off his father, Ghirahim was pretty crazy about his own look now. Being beautiful and rich gave him a lot of leverage with his classmates, and even some of his father’s political associates.

At first the hookups were to piss off his father, taking home innocent, sweet boys from his classes and breaking their hearts ultimately. There was no love in those relationships. Once those boys realized just how fucked up Ghirahim was they would leave, the walk of shame almost always watched in disgust by Demise. Equally loveless were the desperate grabs for attention and human connection Ghirahim attempted once he had run out of classmates to take advantage of. For someone who hadn’t grown up around these men his entire life, it would have been surprising the sheer number of his father’s coworkers who shamelessly lusted after his body. These encounters had long since been accepted by Demise as his son “slutting around.”

So Ghirahim had stopped. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it fucking sleezy politicians. Apart from a couple flings with classmates he hadn’t managed to break the hearts of yet, Ghirahim had spent most of his summer drunk and alone. And by alone that either meant in his father’s home – which was often empty, the corner of loud, obnoxious parties, or at Zant’s dorm. Thank Din, Zant had taken summer classes.

They allowed anyone with a clean residential record (Zant and Ghirahim had never been caught with alcohol) to remain in the rooms they had lived in in previous years, if they wished. None of the freshman had arrived yet that summer, and his old roommates had moved off campus. Ghirahim had taken advantage of the extra twin bed in Zant’s room, choosing to spend most nights there instead of risking running into his drunk tyrant of a father.

Zant was one of the only people that Ghirahim considered an actual friend. The kid was weird, as most computer science majors were, but he didn’t ask questions about why Ghirahim didn’t want to spend time at home or about life as a modern-day aristocrat. Ghirahim would never actually tell Zant this, emotional trauma would do that to a person, but he valued his company and actually thought his dorky hacking jokes were pretty funny. They hadn’t seen each other lately; Zant’s extra bed had been taken by some dumb freshman. Shion? Sidney? Ghirahim couldn’t remember what Zant had said his name was.

So yeah, Ghirahim hadn’t had a great week without seeing his best (only) friend and having to wake up before the sun rose to do his makeup _and_ get to class on time.

His stomach grumbled.

Oh, yeah, he had forgotten to eat breakfast this morning too.

After a preliminary glance around at the few students who had also chosen to sit in the back of the lecture hall, Ghirahim relaxed back into his slouching position. These tables really were too short for him. His posture was going to suffer if he kept this up.

“Hey, do you want this?” A timid whisper distracted him from his vein musings. Apparently, he had been wrong about the stealth of his stomach because the cutie he had been watching had scooted his chair closer to Ghirahim’s. The item he was offering was a whole peach, still large and sweet from the still summery climate. Honestly, it looked delicious. But Ghirahim was both uncomfortable accepting things from others (his father was so stinking rich Ghirahim liked to spend this money as much as possible) and showing himself as vulnerable in front of others. It was debatable whether Ghirahim had trouble with vulnerability or trust, but that was a long cold issue.

“What do you want, kid?” Ghirahim didn’t really mean to sound so unwelcoming, but the week he had just lived through had manifested itself in anger against this blonde cherub.

“Well, I mean…” The boy’s voice trailed off in fear. Ghirahim could see him wrestling with his options: pretend he never said anything or try his hand at friendship again. He really was cute. “I heard your stomach and I had two of these and um, my name’s Link. Hi.”

Short-stuff, “Link” Ghirahim mentally corrected himself, looked embarrassed and, just for a moment, Ghirahim felt a little guilty. This kid was just trying to be nice and Ghirahim _was_ hungry.

“Hi, Link. Thanks.” Ghirahim grabbed the peach out of Link’s small hand and took a small bite, careful not to mess up his lip gloss. It was delicious. Ghirahim could cook but he rarely did. Most nights he would much rather order takeout with his father’s money. In such a large city, he could get pretty much anything he wanted anyway.

They had gone back to listening to their lecture, it was about some place in the sky with huge birds, for less than three minutes before Ghirahim’s attention was distracted from his beautiful, organized notes.

“Hey, what’s your name?” What was up with this kid? Why was he so weird?

“It’s Ghirahim, but I much prefer Lord Ghirahim.” Technically, that was Ghirahim’s title, but he was trying to get Link to fuck off and leave him alone to mope and take notes about history that didn’t affect him.

It worked.

Link didn’t try to talk to Ghirahim any more throughout the course of their lecture, going back to furiously taking notes to make up for the information that he had missed. Ghirahim was almost disappointed.

* * *

 

It was actually only about 24 hours till Ghirahim saw Link next. Sidon had gone home for the weekend (Zant had said “lil sister’s birthday or whatever”) and Ghirahim had been camped out in his friend’s room all day. They had been cycling between studying and playing video games on computers that were definitely only open for checking professors’ slides.

Their fourth game of _Call of Duty_ was interrupted by a knock at Zant’s dorm room door, the one that would stick in the frame and trap the occupants till some kind of brute force freed them. Luckily, the goddesses were smiling today, and the door didn’t stick in the _definitely too small_ frame and swung open to reveal fluffy golden hair a huge green hoody. Actually humongous. That hoodie was at least two sizes too big.

“Hey Zant! I made a metric shit-ton of pasta and I was wondering if you wanted some.” Link’s laugh was like the bubbles in a fountain, it reminded Ghirahim of summer. In his hands was a bowl of pasta, the sauce simple but clearly imbued with all the love Link could give it

Did this kid survive by offering random people food? He was essentially a house-wife.

Link visibility gulped down anxiety when he noticed that Zant was not the only occupant of the room. To his credit though, Link kept it together with only the faintest hint of a tremble in his voice.

“Oh, hi Ghirahim. I didn’t realize you were here. I still have a lot left over so if you want some I could uh”

“You think I’m starving or something, kid?”

Link looked taken aback.

“No, I, Uh, I’m sorry.” He stuttered.

“I’ll have you know I can afford anything I want, and all of it is better than the garbage you just offered.”

Link, seemingly not trusting himself not to cry, thrust the bowl into Zant’s hands and quickly fled the scene, the door still open behind him.

Zant, used to Ghirahim’s antics, paid no mind to the taller boy dramatically throwing himself onto Zant’s bed. Instead, he decided to ignore his friend and eat the definitely-not-garbage pasta Link had given him.

“He’s a good kid y’know.” Zant’s tone was nothing short of scolding, which infuriated Ghirahim even more. Of course, this little asshole had won Zant over.

“I don’t care, I don’t like him.” However, Ghirahim didn’t really dislike him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Link, but he knew whatever it was, it made him want to lash out and retreat into himself for protection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love a dramatic queen \\('w')/


	3. Sidon is a Blessing, Enough Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout writing this I counted 7 different misspellings of Ghira's name in my rough draft. Shit.

Link had always prided himself in being rather resilient in the face of adversary, but Ghirahim’s blatant rejection of his offer of friendship had definitely bruised his ego. And his feelings. Link was excited for an opportunity to befriend the colorful boy from his history class. As much as Link was growing to love that class, he had started looking forward to 8 AM so he could examine Ghirahim. Link was fascinated by Ghirahim; the prospect of having a gay friend was extremely exciting for someone who was still trying to figure out his own identity.

Speaking of identity, if Sidon was gay then Link would be in love with him. Wow. Link might still be a little in love with him. Figuring out that something had happened while he was gone for the weekend, the much taller freshman had taken Link to “an unavoidable lunch date.”

Link, as with most things, was not very good at talking about his feelings. However, Link had never had a friend like Sidon. The redhead, after they had both finished their respective sandwiches, had brought up the issue gently.

“Hey Link, you okay?” Sidon looked so concerned Link almost laughed; this weird kid from Zora’s Domain was the most loyal friend Link had ever had.

“Yeah I’m fine, I’m just bummed out.”

Sidon poked Link’s arm. “You know you just contradicted yourself, right?”

Link laughed softly. It was nearly 2 p.m. so most of the lunch crowd had already left the café, and the atmosphere was quiet. The tiny eatery was tucked under some apartments near the back of campus, only frequented by locals and upperclassmen. Pipit had overheard them planning their “date” and suggested the place.

“Okay, I’m not fine, but I will be.”

Sidon nodded encouragingly and let him continue.

“I know it sounds stupid, but I really want to be friends with one of Zant’s friends, but I tried this weekend and I fucked it and he yelled at me.” Link still hadn’t decided if he was more angry or sad, and it had already been several days. On one hand, Ghirahim’s response was both mean, and In Link’s eyes, uncalled for. Link hadn’t meant anything by it. But on the other hand, Link almost felt bad for anting to be friends with Ghirahim just because he was gay. Did that make him just as bad as people who didn’t want to be friends with gay people? All of this was new to Link and he still hadn’t figured this one out.

“Well did you mean to offend him?”

“No, and I don’t really know what I did wrong.” Was Link so socially inept because of his small-town upbringing that he couldn’t make friends with regularly university students?

Sidon looked thoughtful for a moment. It couldn’t have been more than 10 seconds, but it was long enough for Link to start doubting everything he ever thought he knew about human interactions.

“He might not have been upset with you.” Wait, what? Sidon was definitely weird, but this took the cake. What in the world did that mean?

“I’m not following you.”

“Well, sometimes when people break down about seemingly little things, they’re not upset about the small things at all.” Sidon became more animated, surer of himself, as he talked. "It’s Ghirahim, right?”

Link nodded. It made sense that Sidon knew Zant’s friends, he was roommates with him after all.

“Maybe something else is going on right now and he’s having a hard time? And whatever you did just happened at the wrong time?”

“I don’t know Ghirahim well, but he seems like he needs a friend. Like an emotional friend. I love Zant, but he doesn’t seem like someone who’s very good with feelings.”

Oh. That made sense. Link felt guilty for ever being angry at Ghirahim’s reaction. He could be going through hell and didn’t have anyone to talk to. And here Link was trying to waltz into his life to use him.

“What should I do?”

“Apologize, and then don’t press it. If you really want to be his friend, tell him that. But don’t get upset if he can’t handle it right now.”

“How did you get so wise?”

“I’m not wise! You’re my best friend and I want to help you as much as I can.”

After they had left the café, Link pulled Sidon into a hug, briefly noticing the fact the he barely reached his friend’s shoulder. Link was pretty sure that if everyone had a friend as supportive as Sidon, there would be no more hardship.

* * *

Thus, began operation “befriend Ghirahim but don’t freak him out or act like you’re pitying him.” Link was pretty sure that Ghirahim would hate the name of this operation, which wasn’t really a good start in winning his friendship.

The first step, as advised by Sidon, was to apologize. Link, ever the overachiever, had come up with various flamboyant ways to express his eternal guilt over what he had done, but none of them had really fir the situation. Ghirahim probably also realized how silly their fight had been, and overexaggerating his apology would, most likely, make things worse.

In the end, all of Link’s planning didn’t really matter. After day two of not sitting next to Ghirahim anymore Link broke. He walked up next to a bleary looking Ghirahim and just went for it.

“Hey, so, I’m sorry. I really want to be friends with you and I’m sorry.”

Ghirahim didn’t say anything, but he gave Link a barely noticeable nod as class began. He also didn’t tell Link to fuck off when he pulled out the chair next to Ghirahim and unloaded his well-loved pen collection and history notebook.

Sneaking periodic glances at his potential new friend during Impa’s lecture on yet another war on ideology, Link was hopeful that he would actually be able to befriend this attractive young man.

However, Ghirahim’s very soft looking very pale hair was more distracting than Link had initially thought. While imagining what it would feel like to braid his long bangs back from his forehead like he had learned to do with Zelda’s hair, Impa had said something that had two qualities. One, it was something that every single person in the class was frantically scribbling down. Two, it was something that Link hadn’t heard. At all.

Shit.

Link was never one to fall behind in his classes, especially because he had specifically tested into this course.

“What did she say?” He whispered to Ghirahim, two factions of his brain fighting on whether or not to risk the wrath of Ghirahim.

“Termina’s queen, Tabitha. Had like a shit-ton of kids. Backed up the Sheikah.” Ghirahim’s tone was impatient but, even so, he slid his notebook over so Link could see what he had written.

“Your handwriting is beautiful.” Link couldn’t help the excited words tumbling from his lips. It was beautiful. Even though Link loved his stationary, more than Zelda (but he hadn’t let anyone know that), his hand writing was still messy and some of his notes were disorganized and needed to be rewritten. Ghirahim’s were perfect.  

“I spend so much money on pens I’m glad someone appreciates it.”

Link cracked a grin. “Don’t tell me you have one of those stationary Instagram accounts.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t follow them.” Ghirahim, while still focused on the battle plans of heretic forces, seemed to be smiling under all that hair.

Link, realizing he was wasting time again, went back to his own note taking, but not without noticing the warm feeling in his chest.

* * *

Tonight, they were getting drunk. Now, as someone who had never been drunk, this was a big deal. The occasion? Pipit, wo had been working in a science lab under one of his organic chemistry professors, had gotten published. The work he had been doing for two years had paid off and he had gotten his first academic paper accepted to a journal this morning. Because Pipit was almost universally loved, their suite, along with some of Pipit’s upperclassmen friends, were throwing a party.

One of Pipit’s friend was bringing the alcohol because the entirety of the suite was under the age of 21. Ghirahim was also there – Link was quickly realizing that Zant’s friend basically lived there, especially on the weekends. Luckily, this made it easier for Link to find excuses to talk to Ghirahim.

Currently, he was doing just that. Ghirahim brought his own alcohol because apparently someone as fabulous as Ghirahim had to drink pink wine instead of shitty college beer. Of course, he did. But as Pipit won multiple games of beer pong and drank Sidon and Zant under the table, Link was pretty content in letting Ghirahim explain the difference between regular pink wine and rosé

They were curled up in the corner of the gross white couch that Pipit usually inhabited. Link’s knees were drawn up to his chest, the colorful lights made his drunk brain slightly dizzy and a socially acceptable version of the fetal position made him feel better. Ghirahim was better off than Link was, clearly a more experienced drinker. Still, the older man was obviously drunk enough to seek out Link’s company in the noisy room.

“It’s usually just me in the corner at these things.” Ghirahim’s words came as a surprise to Link. Ghirahim was both beautiful and brilliant, how could he feel left out at parties?

“One time, in high school, I went to a party, but I didn’t know how to dance and left after 5 minutes.” Somewhere in Link’s brain he was aware that he was slurring his words, but he didn’t care.

“Don’t you come from the middle of nowhere? Have they invented dancing there?”

“I think they did but I missed the memo. I went to a school called sky loft and there were like 100 of us.”

“Sky loft? Does that make you a sky brat?” Link shrunk under the teasing, his pout exaggerated and for Ghirahim’s benefit, who laughed so prettily.

“More like a sky nerd who can’t dance.”

“Well, sky child, why don’t I teach you?” Link knew that if he was sober, he wouldn’t have accepted the slender hand into his own and allow himself to be led to the corner of the lounge that had been converted into a dance floor, but the way Ghirahim had whispered “sky child” was so gentle, and he didn’t look as sad anymore.

Link was still an abysmal dancer, but instead of ridiculing him Ghirahim simply laughed and guided Link’s hips with firm hands. Soon, Link was laughing too. The two of them must have looked like quite the pair, with almost eight inches of height difference, too drunk to contain their laughter. Link didn’t care, Ghirahim’s eyes sparkled in the undulating lights like fairies in a fountain.

Eventually, Zant, looking exasperated at his friends’ antics, told them they were too loud and should sit back down. Sleepy, Link made little to no protest. With new found bravery, he rested his head on Ghirahim’s shoulder.

“Do you visit our dorm all the time for the parties?” He asked Ghirahim absent mindedly, watching Sidon cheer on whatever idea Pipit had just pitched the group.

“No, I visit because the people are kind here. They’re not like that at home.” Link, despite the alcohol, instantly felt guilty for asking. If Ghirahim had been sober he would have probably kicked his ass. This kind of tender admission was almost unheard of from Ghirahim.

Trying to draw attention away from whatever monsters he must have just reminded Ghirahim of, Link decided to give his own admission to make it even.

“I like the people here too, no one back home accepted me like they do.”

“Does sky loft hate dancing _and_ history majors?”

“It’s just a small town.”

Ghirahim looked pensive at that, seemingly having never considered the consequences of not growing up in a thriving metropolis.

It can’t have been longer than an hour, but it seemed like after a lifetime of talking to Ghirahim, the party was over. Collectively, they decided Sidon would take Link’s extra bed so that Ghirahim wouldn’t have to take the train home so late. Link and Sidon, excited at the prospect of a sleepover, had no issues with this.

By now, Link was one of the soberest people, as he had not participated in the drinking games that had done almost everyone else in. He volunteered himself to clean up the worst of the mess, so they wouldn’t wake up to an ant infested suite. As threw the last of the red plastic cups into the trashcan, he noticed that one person had not left the room.

“Hey Ghirahim, you okay?” He asked quietly, conscious that some of his suitemates would already be asleep.

Link didn’t get the answer he was asking for. Instead, Ghirahim used his long legs to quickly cross the room and sweep Link into a tight hug.

“Thank you for being there for me.” The words came softly, barely more than a whisper. Before Link could ask what Ghirahim meant, the older boy had left, the gleam from his pale hair disappearing into Zant’s room. Link stood there for a few minutes after, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest and his emotions a conflicting, confusing mess.


	4. Like a Flash Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghirahim compares Link to a roaring river, Link talks about his feelings, Ghirahim has a panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I was halfway through writing this chapter and then suddenly it was April. University is wild like that. A fair warning, there's some light mentions of rape/non-con in this chapter. Nothing huge, but this one is a little rough and I don't want anyone to be caught off guard.

Ghirahim had always prided himself on being a self-sufficient person. Basically, having raised himself, it was undeniable that he had a larger-than-healthy dose of aloofness. And it wasn’t just how he conducted himself; Ghirahim also tended to choose emotionally distant companions. Neediness infuriated him. Ghirahim couldn’t care less about all the boys he had broken the hearts of in his delayed teenage rebellion. It didn’t matter if they needed him, adored him, loved him. As long as they wanted him, they could hook-up and Ghirahim could walk away with his eyes dry and convince himself that this was enough validation to live off of.

But now, Ghirahim was in crisis.

More than usual, that is.

The situation in question had started out normally enough. It was a Saturday, and, as he had taken to doing every night, Ghirahim had slept in Zant’s room. Sidon was more than happy to get to have a “super special sleepover” with Link. Everyone thought this was silly; they already lived right next to each other. But no one would tell Sidon that. Link, however, did point out to his best friend that this sleepover wasn’t particularly “super special.” Ghirahim had been spending less and less time at home, even less than he had before Zant had acquired a roommate. He was almost sure that the only person who used the suite kitchen more than he did was Link.

This particular morning, Ghirahim woke up to the smell of cinnamon and sugar. The smell was arguably better than sex. As he was the only person who knew how to bake in the suite (Sidon was trying to learn but Ghirahim didn’t trust the kid not pay attention for that long), it had to be Link responsible for the smell. Before investigating, Ghirahim threw his beloved red sweater on over his bare chest. The dorms were drafty and each day the temperature seemed to drop another three degrees.

Ghirahim, as usual, was right. Link had absolutely destroyed the kitchen with flour. There was even flour in his right eyebrow. How was that even possible? Link seemed unbothered by the mess, happily humming a nonsensical tune as he washed mixing bowls. Despite looking rather distracted, Link turned around immediately when Ghirahim opened Zant’s door. For an airheaded sky child, Link was pretty astute.

“Good morning, Ghirahim.” Link was such a morning person that Ghirahim could imagine him chirping like the birds outside instead of speaking actual words. He wasn’t sure which would be more annoying. Neither of these circumstances compared to the way Ghirahim felt when fixed with that radiant smile. Neither words nor chirping were more annoying in the morning than the intrusive thoughts of bundling up the sky child in swaths of blankets till he was adequately swaddled and warm. Or the thoughts of how pretty Link’s eyes were in the dim light of the mid-morning kitchen. It was that damn radiant – annoying – smile making him think about – definitely not – going back to sleep with a sky child burrito in his arms.

Chirping would be an improvement, he decided.

“Good morning, sky child.”

 Even Ghirahim noticed how soft his voice got when he was in the same space as Link. Zant thought it was hilarious. Pipit was glad Ghirahim smiled more now. More importantly, Ghirahim had to swat flour coated hands away from his sweater as Link tried to hug him. The smaller man let out a sharp bark of laughter before covering his mouth in horror as he remembered that the majority of the world was still asleep. One look at Link’s wide eyes was all it took to cause Ghirahim’s own laughter to bubble to the surface.

Growing up, Ghirahim had never had moments like this. No cinnamon rolls, no best friends, no breathlessly trying to avoid smears of flour. But with his sky child, this kind of thing felt natural. Despite his best efforts, Link still wanted to be around Ghirahim. His friendship steadied Ghirahim; self-loathing thoughts were never far away, but with Link, they couldn’t penetrate like they normally would.

He had no plans to share any of this with Link – or anyone else – but most people who knew him knew that Ghirahim avoided mornings like a Zora avoided fire. Yet, for some reason, Ghirahim’s schedule ad started lining up with Link’s. Ghirahim internalized it as a lucky coincidence. Zant thought he was stupid.

Which was fine; Zant was stupid anyway.

Eventually, Link gave up his attempts to ruin everything Ghirahim had ever loved and washed the flour off of his hands. However, his skin on received a brief reprieve. Faster than Ghirahim would have imagined physically possible, Link was three cinnamon rolls deep and his hands were visibly sticky. Gross.

To his credit, the cinnamon rolls were good. Ghirahim was relaxed on the gross white couch and carefully picking apart his second pastry – “Not everyone is a savage like you, sky child” – when he noticed Link becoming more and more apprehensive. He looked like he was struggling to say something, but his brain refused in favor of sounding repeated warning alarms.

“What? Did you poison these, or something?” Ghirahim’s attempt at a joke didn’t seem to make his friend any less nervous, but it did earn him a wry smile.

“If I really wanted to poison you, I would have done it weeks ago.”

“Well whatever it is better be good. You know I’m only interested in my own life.” Funny, a statement like that would have been true six months ago. With Link sitting next to him on the couch, it was hard to imagine a time where those words were anything more than a joke.

Link scrunched up his face in response to Ghirahim’s jab, clearly neither amused nor offended.

“I was going to ask for a favor but maybe now I won’t.” Link stuck out his tongue for good measure. Who exactly let this kid become an adult? The universe did not answer Ghirahim’s request for explanation.

“Well, what was it?”

“I was wondering,” Link hesitated, unsure. Ghirahim assumed as reassuring of an expression as he could muster. “Will you do my makeup for me?”

It took more self-control than Ghirahim previously imagined possible to not laugh. All sky child wanted was a make-up tutorial. All that nervous energy for some mascara. But something about Link’s anxious expression told Ghirahim that this meant a lot to him.

“Of course, do you want me to do it now?” Link’s face broke into delight, and Ghirahim silently cheered himself on for producing such a beautiful expression. The smaller man nodded enthusiastically, and moved to clear their sticky, cinnamon coated plates from in front of them.

Ghirahim only kept the essentials in Zant’ room. The other boy complained enough about three lipsticks on his desk that Ghirahim was sure he’d have a conniption if there was much more. His foundation wouldn’t match Link’s skin, still sun kissed even as the first snowstorm was promised in the next few weeks. But Ghirahim wasn’t worried about foundation. In fact, upon closer inspection, the tiny freckles that spanned from left to right across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose seemed much too delicate to cover with product. For aesthetic reasons, of course. However, because of the natural cut of his jawline and his delicate eyelashes, Link was a perfect canvas for careful brushstrokes of eyeliner and expertly dusted highlighter.

“Okay, open your eyes so I can do mascara.” Ghirahim ordered, enjoying his work immensely.

“Mascara?”

“Yeah, the stuff that goes on our eyelashes.” Link still look bewildered so Ghirahim handed him a nearly empty, gold and shiny tube.

“Does this hurt?”

“Only if I want it to. Stop moving.” It took some intense concentration and patience, but Ghirahim was able to apply the product while only poking Link’s eye once. Closing the makeup tube, Ghirahim looked back to Link’s face to make sure that he hadn’t missed anything. He hadn’t realized Link was watching him.

Ghirahim had previously found himself comparing the sky child’s eyes to still, blue pools. Their depth and calm reminded him of untouched lakes in deep forests.

Now he knew he was wrong.

Staring into cobalt blue, Ghirahim changed his mind. His sky child’s eyes were more like the raging of the Zora river during a typhoon. Yes, they were beautiful, but lakes didn’t have the same destructive power as their traveling counterparts. Link’s eyes too much energy, too much raw emotion to be compared to a lake. Too much courage and fire to be still water. Fixed with that kind of gaze, it was all Ghirahim could do to remember who he was.

Ghirahim had broken virgin hearts in a quest for validation. He had received dozens of confessions with differing levels of pure intentions. But, somehow, and eighteen-year-old fixing him with an affectionate gaze made his chest grow tight and his heart pick up pace like a drummer who had missed a measure.

Seemingly oblivious to Ghirahim’s fluster, Link batted his eyelids slowly, getting used to the additional weight provided by the mascara.

“Are you done?”

Ghirahim hadn’t realized he’d forgotten how to speak until he soundlessly opened his mouth. He shut it quickly, trying again.

“Almost, do you want lip gloss?” Link nodded his approval quickly, eyes sparkling with excitement.

When Ghirahim handed him a mirror, Link let out a tiny squeak in excitement. “You did such a good job! I love it!”

Ghirahim let out a smug “of course you do,” but couldn’t help being proud of himself. Link, already striking enough with his sunshine hair and sapphire eyes, was downright beautiful now. A dramatic black cat eye accented his eyes well, and silver highlighter sparkled above pale freckles. He looked like a siren, ready to steal men from their wives and drown them.

After admiring every possible angle of Ghirahim’s handiwork, Link’s eyes grew serious, again reminding Ghirahim of a flash flood.

“Thank you. I was always too scared to try this myself and I didn’t have anyone to try it with growing up.”

Realizing that this was about more than just eyeliner, Ghirahim nodded reassuringly to show that he was listening. 

“I’d never met anyone queer before I got to college. Skyfall is tiny, and even though they’re pretty accepting it was still hard to not have anyone else going through the same stuff I was.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It was. And I don’t want you to think I’s only friends with you because I’m having some kind of big gay crisis- “Ghirahim cut off Link’s worrying, wrapping an arm around his shoulders comfortingly. Only after he felt Link physically relax against him did Ghirahim let himself speak.

“Don’t worry, my entire life is a big gay crisis.” Link punched him in the arm half-heartedly, but he was smiling.

Ghirahim thought about telling Link everything, about his mother leaving, about the way his father would beat him till he was listless, about the politicians he seduced, but he didn’t. He opted instead to ask Link more about his village, his “big gay crisis,” and just enjoy his friend’s company. It was only 11 a.m. and they had both talked about their feelings more than Ghirahim was comfortable with ever.

When Ghirahim rode the train home that night he was smiling. He didn’t mean to, he wouldn’t want anyone to actually think he _liked_ riding the train. But he couldn’t. It was like the sky child had taken two hands and stretched his face into a grin.

Ghirahim wasn’t sure what this was, but as grumpy as he was, he wasn’t complaining. He genuinely enjoyed Link’s company and feels like he would continue to do so for a long time. Their finals started in two weeks, and after that Link was going home. But the scrambling anxiety in his chest about being left behind was unwarranted, Link had said he could visit Skyfall, it was okay.

It was all okay.

Until it wasn’t.

Ghirahim was almost sure that his father would not be home that night, so when Demise’s huge, ugly form cast a shadow into the front parlor it scared him. The warmth that his sky child had infused his body with started to drain through his suddenly very cold hands, leaving frosty fear in its wake.

“You seem happy today, boy.” Ghirahim winced, not at the words but the palpable stench of alcohol that filled the room when Demise opened his mouth.

“I am, because I didn’t see you.” Ghirahim was proud, standing his ground to his father, but he already knew he had lost. He was terrified of Demise.

“No.” The huge man moved closer to Ghirahim, the reek of liquor stifling. “You’re happy because of some filthy twink you’ve been fucking.”

Ghirahim, furious as well as terrified, balled his hands into fists at his sides. “How would you know.”

Demise ignored him. “Probably a good fuck if someone as disgusting as yourself smiles afterwards. How would you like it if I had a go? Your twink probably even smells like a girl.”

Ghirahim could no longer think, he pushed past Demise – who seemed uncaring as he let him go – and bolted down the hallway to his room. Once there, he collapsed on top of his exquisite bedspread and focused on calming his breathing. Demise rarely got to him anymore, but when he did, it was bad. He didn’t even know who Link was, yet Ghirahim found it difficult to not be afraid.

Eventually, once he had calmed down, he realized that Link had texted him. It was only 9 p.m., much earlier than either of them went to sleep, and the sky child had said he was going to watch a move with Sidon that night.

_Sidon says I’m prettier than you now._

Ghirahim smiled softly, too tired for any real indignance.

_Tell Sidon that’s blasphemy_

_Sidon says he’s surprised you know that word_

_Wow, you’re both canceled_

Link didn’t reply right after that, and Ghirahim didn’t really expect him to. They were watching a movie, after all. Still, he took comfort in the memory of flour dusted blond and fiery, destructive blue.

When he finally fell asleep, one pillow under his head and the other partially under his stomach, he also thought of Link.

In his dreams, they were back in the dormitory kitchen, laughing like they had been that very morning. The only differences were that Link’s hands weren’t covered in flour, Ghirahim wasn’t afraid, and when their laughter lulled for a moment Ghirahim found soft, warm lips on his own.

Link’s laughter bubbled out like summer creek, warm and happy and oh so enticing against Ghirahim’s lips and he desperately yearned for more, for closer, for his sky child. But as he leaned forward, Link kept retreating.

Link was being pulled back by a hand, not obviously struggling, but seemingly disappointed to be taken from his friend. Further examination led Ghirahim’s eyes to his father’s face; it was him who now had Link pinned against a wall.

Ghirahim tried to scream, tried to run to his friend’s aid, but it was no use. Like a man witnessing his own execution, Ghirahim was mute and paralyzed, forced to watch the scene play out before him.  

 _“Your twink probably even smells like a girl.”_ Demise crooned towards Ghirahim as he began to remove Link’s clothes, the sky child struggling all the while. When Link started to scream, Ghirahim felt earthquake-like sobs rack his body, still confined to his silent, still prison.

Ghirahim was trapped there for what felt like minutes, watching a scene he knew was a dream but still felt as horrifying as it would in the waking world. Ghirahim’s silent screams went unnoticed as Link disappeared under Demise’s huge, putrid form.

When Ghirahim woke, it was to the sound of his own screaming, now audible to his own ears. Horrified, shaking, sobbing, he bolted from his room to the adjoining bathroom and retched until his body couldn’t physically expel anything else.

Ghirahim’s lanky form laid on the cold tile of his ornate bathroom, his mouth putrid, his stomach a void, and breath-stealing sobs still racking his body.

Over and over again the image of his best friend being violated by Demise played in his brain, each time more vivid than the other. Vaguely, Ghirahim realized he was having a panic attack, but this knowledge wasn’t enough to break himself out of it.

_Your twink probably even smells like a girl._

_Your twink._

_Probably a good fuck._

_Maybe I should give it a go._

Ghirahim’s body was tall and lanky but by the time he found the strength to stand he took up so little space on the floor an entire battalion could share the space with him. His ears were ringing, his brain still foggy from lack of oxygen and panic, but his legs were able to transport back to his bed before he had to collapse into the fetal position again.

_Sky child._

Ghirahim wanted to see Link’s face more than anything else in Hyrule. He wanted to see that radiant smile not covered with someone else’s disgusting body, but, somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to txt his friend. This dream only happened because of his own disgusting perversions centered around his friend. He was hurting his sky child by being around him. So even as his body shook and he longed for short arms around his torso, the only thing he could muster the strength for was staring at his phone’s lock screen.

The sky child had texted him again after he had gone to sleep.

_Missed you tonight. Sidon and I think you would have liked this movie <3_

Ghirahim didn’t have the energy to bring himself to respond.


End file.
